


Nocturne

by afrai



Series: Lieder [4]
Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Banter, F/M, First Time, Headcanon, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4791290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrai/pseuds/afrai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The wedding of Miss Arabella Woodhope and Mr. Jonathan Strange was a particularly pretty one, everyone agreed, for it combined taste and sentiment to an ideal degree.</em>
</p><p>An account of the first night of Jonathan and Arabella Strange's marriage. (4/4)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nocturne

The wedding of Miss Arabella Woodhope and Mr. Jonathan Strange was a particularly pretty one, everyone agreed, for it combined taste and sentiment to an ideal degree. The intervention of Mr. Strange's aunt Erquistoune ensured the first, the natural inclination of Mrs. Strange – Miss Woodhope that was – being to scrimp on everything possible, for she had been brought up in the expectation of a life of genteel poverty, and could not immediately adjust to the notion of being the wife of a man of substance. As for the second, each party brought their share of it: Mrs. Strange's blushes were scarcely more charming than Mr. Strange's open delight.

A wonderfully happy day: Arabella could not have asked for better. She no longer had any doubt of the likely happiness of the union. Indeed, she told Jonathan in the carriage, everyone was so persuaded that it was a perfect match that it would be churlish for either of them to be anything but blissfully content.

"I am in perfect agreement with everyone, and do not propose to be anything else," said Jonathan.

"I only fear I may grow too fond of you and forget all your faults," said Arabella.

"Oh! That is very unlikely," said Jonathan. "I plan to expand my collection of failings. I know how much they amuse you. Perhaps I shall adopt a few magical vices for variety."

Yet for all their gaiety Arabella could not but feel unsettled. Henry had set off for Cumberland before the day was out. She could hardly credit that henceforth she would be separated from the sibling who had been for half her life all her family and her dearest friend.

And then it was so odd to be returning not to their own home in Clunbury but to Ashfair, a house she knew hardly at all. Jonathan had not spent much time there when his father was alive. Arabella was queerly torn between the greatest conceivable happiness and an unreasoning distress. She felt as one does as a child when overexcited – that giddy bliss teetering upon the brink of collapse; the spiral into disillusion and anticlimax, leading to tears and tantrums.

To crown it all, Jonathan, who might be expected to be her chief support at this time, was acting oddly – not at all like himself. Directly they arrived at Ashfair he must needs rush around the house making absurd demands of the servants: had Jeremy seen to his horses? He would not stand for the horses being mistreated – his father had been shockingly neglectful of his stable – seemed to think horses were merely a type of moving furniture. There were no flowers in Mrs. Strange's sitting room – he had given orders for there to be flowers – it was no answer to say that there were flowers in her bedchamber, for that was a different room altogether. He had particularly wished his wife to be greeted by flowers.

"I do not want flowers, Jonathan," said Arabella, half-laughing, half-vexed, "but only for you to be still for five minutes!"

"I thought you desired me to be busy."

"I wished you to be _occupied_ ," said Arabella. "That is quite a different thing from being busy, as you call it. I might say 'officious'. I am sure poor Jeremy would!"

Jonathan sat down and turned upon her the stunned look he had worn all day – a look that suggested he was asking himself, "And have I really inveigled her into it?" But before Arabella could tease him out of it, he declared that he thought he would go to his study. He was working out a spell she might like to see, but it was not quite done yet. A few hours' attention was all it needed. He would have it ready for her by breakfast. 

Jonathan sprang up as though he meant to go straight to his study and lock himself away for the remainder of the evening.

"I should very much like to see it," said Arabella. "But first I should like to speak with my husband, before the day of our marriage is quite ended."

Jonathan's eyes softened at the words _my husband_. She held out her hand and he came to her, the nervous edge to his energy blunted. His face was full of tenderness.

Arabella cast her eyes down, blushing, but fortunately she had a distraction prepared.

"I have a gift for you," she said. She produced a slim volume. "I found this shortly after you told me you were going to be a magician, but I have saved it till now."

" _A Child's History of the Raven King_." Jonathan opened the book and read the dedication she had written upon the flyleaf, smiling.

"It is not a book of magic," said Arabella, in a tone of apology. Jonathan had explained the distinction between books _of_ and _about_ magic. "It is really only a historical account, written for the instruction of the young. But I found it most interesting."

"It is wonderful," said Jonathan. 

With pleasure, and some surprise, she saw that he was already reading it. But Jonathan did seem more interested in magic than in any of the other occupations he had tried and abandoned. Perhaps it was no surprise magic should suit him. Its romance and irrationality certainly seemed a better fit for a man of his temperament than the law or the clergy would have been.

She pressed the lightest of kisses upon his temple, intending to steal quietly out of the room, but Jonathan closed the book and caught her mouth with his own.

"Oh – !" said Arabella, but he swallowed the noise. 

Jonathan's lips were dry and soft, his tongue bold. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, and he folded her into his arms. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Arabella felt her cheeks flame into warmth; her breath stuttered.

She had grown up in the country. It would have been impossible to remain in total ignorance of these matters, but it was one thing to know how calves were made, and another to understand how such affairs were conducted among human beings. She had felt the lack of a mother keenly during her preparations for the wedding.

Dear Henry had tried his best, but he had said nothing more than that she was not to worry: Strange was a good fellow and could be trusted to be kind. This had been awkward enough. Neither of them could wish that Henry had said more, but the result of it was that Arabella was as much in the dark as ever.

She would not worry. Jonathan would keep kissing this dreamy, potent lassitude into her limbs and she would let it take over. She would not think … but in her anxiety to be swept away she must have communicated some of her nervousness, for Jonathan stopped.

His eyes had a distant, dazed look, but he was clearly trying to master himself. After a moment he said:

"I had thought – " he cleared his throat. His voice was low and husky, but he spoke quickly, in a most unromantic tone, leavened with embarrassment:

"I have reflected upon this at some length. You should not feel that we must – " he reddened, but soldiered on – "consummate our marriage at once. I am anxious that we should do only what you are comfortable with. We will take as much time as you need. Indeed, perhaps we had better wait before we do anything at all, till you are grown accustomed to the idea."

Though Arabella would not have conceived of this speech of Jonathan's in a hundred years, nothing could have been better calculated to put her at her ease. She was so much entertained she forgot all anxiety. She said, in a stifled voice:

"Indeed! That is most kind. Would a fortnight be too long to wait, do you think?"

Jonathan's face fell. But he said bravely, "Certainly – a fortnight!"

"You will not mind waiting?" said Arabella, looking down demurely. "You do not think it will try you unduly?"

"No!" said Jonathan. He kissed her hand. The touch of his lips made her shiver, but he did not seem to notice it. "You must not think me so base, Bell. I will not notice the time. I will be too much occupied with my studies. Indeed, chastity is apparently indispensable to certain kinds of magic. It is said the lesser Argentine magician Giles Blackaby swore by it. Of course, Blackaby is reported to have fathered several natural children, but then he was a poor magician by all accounts."

"Well, if you do not mind … " said Arabella, looking up at Jonathan through her lashes. 

She was not a woman to employ affectations in the main, but this particular glance was one proven to make Jonathan look vague and stumble over his words. It did not fail upon this occasion. He blinked and said:

"Not at all. I will delight in calling you my wife – " he took a great deal of pleasure in saying the words – "and in holding hands, and kisses …. "

"Perhaps," said Arabella, "we had better not kiss. Perhaps that is a risk we ought not to assume. I should not like to provoke your appetites with no means of satisfying them."

Jonathan looked crestfallen, but Arabella could not quite preserve her mastery of herself, and after a moment he said, in quite a different tone:

"Arabella, you are laughing at me!"

Arabella could not answer at once. Jonathan looked as though he were in two minds about whether to be cross or to laugh along with her, but she took his hands and held them in her own.

"Of course I am," she said. "We are married, Jonathan. There is no reason to wait. I should not have agreed to be your wife if I were not ready – if I did not _wish_ to be your wife." She looked up at him and smiled. "You will show me the way of it."

"You are not to think I have a vast store of knowledge," said Jonathan, flustered. "My experience in this realm has not been extensive."

"Then we shall muddle along together," said Arabella. "Shan't we?"

But Jonathan did not reply. He was looking at her mouth. This time it was she who kissed him. 

She felt Jonathan's breath catch in his throat. For a moment he held back, as though he were almost afraid to touch her. Then he surged forward, all ardent warmth, his hands wandering about her person with thrilling audacity.

Though Arabella's eyes were shut, she thought she would know Jonathan by this alone – the pressure of his lips against hers, his clean smell and the pleased hum of his voice. Jonathan kissed with the happy ease that had endeared him to her from the first; with a confidence of pleasing so artlessly sincere that its arrogance could not offend. He was only somewhat overwhelming in his eagerness. 

She ran her hands through his curls and along his jaw, enjoying the brush of stubble against her fingers, then pressed his cheek until he was persuaded reluctantly to release her mouth.

"What is the hurry?" she said softly. She drew her finger along the line between his eyebrows, trying to smooth out the crease, then kissed it. "Have not we all the time in the world?"

"All the time – !" said Jonathan. "I have scarcely fifty years left in this world, and that is only assuming I am not borne off by an apoplexy at forty. And that is all the time we are to have together!"

Arabella could not help laughing: surely it would only occur to Jonathan to be so morbid on his wedding day. "Why, Jonathan, how can you say that when we are promised eternity?"

"I have no business with eternity," said Jonathan. "I wish to enjoy my wife now, in this life – in this form, and no other." He looked at her, his eyes full of light. 

It was as though Jonathan's gaze would remake her. She was transformed into something quite new to herself, wondrous, enchanting. She kissed his knuckles.

"Well then," she said. "Ought we to retire?"

* * *

Jonathan would not be satisfied with Arabella's keeping on her shift. He set about at once trying to extricate her from it. She held out for a little while: it was not difficult to persuade him to abandon his pursuit of ties and fastenings in favour of stroking her thighs, or kissing her breasts through the thin fabric of her shift.

But he would not be put off forever, and he contrived to distract Arabella for long enough to get her shift half off. She raised herself on her elbow, intending to snuff out the candle, but Jonathan caught her hand.

"I wish to see you," he said. His lips were wet, his hair dishevelled, but he looked as alert as ever, and prodigiously pleased with himself.

"That is precisely what I do not want!" said Arabella.

But Jonathan only laughed – a low, triumphant laugh that both provoked her and made her long to melt into him. While she was making her mind up he pulled the garment the rest of the way off, and looked her up and down, examining her thoroughly.

"You are beautifully made, Bell," he said, with such a mixture of reverence and self-satisfaction as wholly disarmed her.

"You need not think you will win me over with flattery, Mr. Strange," Arabella said, but she could not think of any further impertinences to tease him with, for Jonathan had not unveiled her to no purpose. He set about marking every inch of exposed flesh with kisses.

Arabella found it difficult to remain indignant with Jonathan's mouth tracing heat along the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, and the tender skin on the inside of her thighs. She raised her hand to tweak his ear in reproof, but found herself instead caressing his jaw. She slid her hand down the side of his neck, feeling the movement in his throat as he swallowed, and continued the caress down his chest and along his flanks.

Embarrassment fell away. She looked at Jonathan – for he was beautiful, though men are not generally so called. He was all compact, wiry strength and nervous energy, focused, for once, upon a single object. Her hand, continuing its exploration of his person, reached the bone above his thigh, and wavered.

She looked up, for Jonathan had paused his efforts. Their eyes met and he said, with the greatest conceivable tenderness:

"Is there any need for shyness, my love? We are married, after all."

"I am not likely to forget that in the circumstances," said Arabella. 

Jonathan let out an amused huff against her lips, but his breath hitched when she curled her fingers around his shaft. 

The skin was surprisingly soft. She liked how clean and warm and velvety it felt in her hand, how the skin moved against his hardness. As for how Jonathan bit back a moan as she slid her thumb around the head, she liked that _very_ much.

"Do you think – " said Jonathan, his breath coming short, and "Yes," Arabella said.

In fact it felt a little awkward when he entered her. Jonathan seemed to enjoy it. For Arabella the pleasure in the act was not so immediately evident. It was certainly pleasant to be so close to him; to have his breath stir her hair, and feel the weight of his body upon hers. But for a while the chief of her enjoyment came from watching his dear face as he moved within her.

Jonathan noticed her abstraction, however. He got a considering look upon his face, shifted his weight upon his palms, and slid into her from a different angle.

"Oh!" said Arabella, clutching at him instinctively. 

She began to see the point of the exercise. There was something lovely in the rhythm of it: a sense of anticipation, a building excitement. Her breath quickened. She curled her hand in his hair and canted her hips up, pushing blindly, seeking she knew not what.

Her excitement fed Jonathan's. His pace sped up. He kissed her, gasping, his lips landing upon her ear, her jaw, and then he pressed her to him, grasping her hip painfully, groaned – and _stopped_!

After a moment Jonathan extricated himself and rolled onto his back, looking highly pleased with himself.

He did not look smug for long, however. Arabella said, without thinking:

"Is that all?"

Jonathan's eyes had been half-closed, but at this they opened wide. "Was not it what you expected?"

Arabella coloured. "I do not know that I expected anything. But does it generally go so quickly?"

Jonathan went red himself, and his air of complacency vanished. "Why, no, I suppose – I mean to say – " He looked cross. "If you must know, it does not usually 'go so quickly'. I suppose I was excited. It is not every night one is married."

Arabella saw that she had been guilty of a failure of tact, though she had had no notion that it was a point on which it was possible to give offence. She felt sorry for having innocently spoilt Jonathan's pleasure, even as she felt inclined to laugh. Men were such delicate creatures!

"I did not mean to be uncivil," she said remorsefully. She stroked his head, trying to tame the unruly curls, but they sprang back up again when her hand had passed over them. "You must recall how complete my ignorance is. You will be patient with me, I know."

Jonathan's countenance gave little encouragement for this: it was scarcely expressive of patience. He said abruptly:

"No, you are quite right! I was not attending. However, let us see what can be done."

He looked at Arabella, frowning as though she were a magic spell whose mysteries he intended to resolve. With an air of decision he stroked both hands down along her person. She arched into his warm, dry hands. Every inch of her skin seemed to come alive.

Jonathan nodded, parted her legs, and pressed two soft, wet kisses to the inside of her right thigh. Then he licked her thoughtfully between her legs.

The jolt of pleasure flashed through Arabella's entire body.

" _Jonathan!_ " she gasped.

She was shocked, but Jonathan did not intend to leave her time to think or protest. His tongue explored her with deft strokes, pressing into the core where he had just spent himself. 

Arabella pressed her back against the sheets, squirming, her fingers tightening against the back of his head. She could not get away from his mouth. She did not really want to: it was nearly too much, but she could not have borne for him to stop. She blushed to hear herself moan – a wanton, shameless noise, far too loud, but she could not help it, and Jonathan seemed to like it. 

He applied himself with renewed energy, humming deep in his throat. Arabella gave up any thought of restraint. As unbearably sweet as the darts of Jonathan's tongue were, they were most of them slightly off the point. Perhaps this was deliberate, but she could not wait any longer. 

She dug her fingers into Jonathan's head, holding him still, and rocked against his mouth, panting. She felt him laugh against her, a warm vibration – and then her body tensed and her climax rolled over her, an inexorable wave of sensation.

She fell back, a pleasant tiredness stealing over her.

"How smug you look, to be sure, Jonathan," she said drowsily as he came up beside her.

"Me, smug? What have I to be smug about?" he said. He caught her hand and kissed it. Arabella stretched luxuriously, still rather dreamy and abstracted.

She became conscious that Jonathan had lost some of his look of self-satisfaction. He was watching her movements intently. She looked down: he was erect again, and it seemed only natural to reach down and take him into her hand. 

She stroked him tentatively, growing more confident as she felt him harden further under her touch. She circled the tip with her thumb, as she had done before, and he groaned, jerking within her grasp. Still, she could not quite hit upon the right rhythm.

"Show me," she whispered, and he folded his hand over hers, guiding her grip.

Then it was just a matter of imitating what Jonathan had shown her – watching his face and feeling the tip of his shaft slide wetly against her wrist. Jonathan leant down to kiss her, his breath laboured now, and she slipped her tongue into his mouth daringly. He shuddered. His mouth went a little loose, and a warm fluid split through her fingers onto her belly.

"What did you think of that, Mr. Strange?" she said into his ear. She inspected the substance upon her hand with interest.

Jonathan flopped down beside Arabella.

"Think!" he said. "I was not doing any of _that_ at all." He opened his eyes just in time to see Arabella taste her fingers and make a face.

"Oh!" she said. "I do not mean to offend, but that is not very pleasant, Jonathan. I hope I did not taste so odd to you."

"Bell -- !" he said, a little shocked, but then he laughed. "I see I shall like being married just as much as I had thought." 

He kissed her sleepily on the cheek, but a thought struck him.

"Since I have come off twice, ought not we to arrange for you to go again?" he said. He cupped her breast in one hand, kissing the nipple.

Arabella said, startled, "Surely not. Why, then there would never be an end to it!"

Jonathan grinned and rolled over onto her, kissing her throat.

"Now that," he said, "is the best argument I have yet heard for marriage."


End file.
